


A Gentleman in Distress

by bocje_ce_ustu



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Closeted Character, Gay Bar, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bocje_ce_ustu/pseuds/bocje_ce_ustu
Summary: For the prompt: "Canon-divergence during First Class. They're both closeted to the other, but as fate would have it, decide to 'unwind' on the same night at the same underground gay bar."





	A Gentleman in Distress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sebastian2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastian2017/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [sebastian2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebastian2017/pseuds/sebastian2017) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2017) collection. 



Frustrated. Yes, frustrated was the right word to describe how Erik felt.

They had been trying to get a hold of Shaw and his gang for weeks, even chasing after them across the Atlantic, where a tip had placed them in England.

The lead was right but the track was old, and now they were stuck in London until their USSR visas weren’t issued – which meant, even counting their CIA backing, another day or two’s worth of Charles chatting up Moira one groovy pick-up line at a time.

Erik was not in the mood to spend the night watching Charles chatting up Moira one groovy pick-up line at a time.

Erik wasn’t even sure he could stand looking at Charles, being what he was and feeling what he felt.

That was not how it was supposed to be. Erik couldn’t believe he wanted to rip something to pieces, or be ripped to pieces himself, for a reason other than Shaw.

Erik had let himself want too much, but he figured that if he let himself have enough to wipe every helpless hope from his mind, he could carry on.

That was how he found himself walking into a seedy establishment with a slanted sign and slanted gazes that left no doubt as to the reason its customers had gathered there.

Erik wasn’t unaware of his own appeal. More than once it had been yet another weapon in his arsenal, to lure and cheat when it would be more useful to do so than to spill blood.

Erik knew, without a doubt, that he could easily have whatever man he set his sights on here.

But Erik also knew, without a doubt, as he left the counter with a glass of brandy in one hand, that he wouldn’t want anyone else.

Dark hair slicked back on his temples, a shirt and pants that hugged his figure snugly, eyes that shimmered in the dim light. And lips that Erik would have sworn were painted red, if he hadn’t been just inches from them in the morning, for more than a few days on end, during their recruiting trip.

Charles Xavier seemed to be perfectly at ease in the middle of a gay bar and dressed up for the kill.

Charles Xavier had found another sweet form of torture for him, and Erik couldn’t seem to look away.

And that was apparently all it took – that or the embarrassing mush of lust his brain had turned into – for Charles to fix his eyes on him in return and dismiss with an apologetic smile the man offering him a drink.

Erik felt frozen in place. Charles was walking towards him across the crowd, never failing to raise eyes and turn heads in his passage. There was no way to run to.

Charles was only a few feet away when a lanky man with a broad grin stopped him, and Erik had to make sense of the hot fury fighting with the rush of relief in his chest when the man placed a hand on Charles’s arm.

“Oi, dolly eek! How ‘bout a plate in the carsey?”

“I’d love to, bona palliass, but I’ve already found my trade.” Charles nodded in Erik’s direction, making the man turn as well and consider Erik with a clinical once over, before he pointed his thumb towards the bar.

“If his cartso’s not a good fit to your dish or oven, come over there. I’ll be ajax.”

“That… sounds quite the offer,” Erik said when Charles came to stand before him, closer than they would normally be because of the crowd.

Charles flashed him a grin. “Did you understand anything of it?”

Erik shook his head. “Though on the way in I was kindly informed by more than a few customers that I have ‘a basket worth bringing to the cottage’.”

“Pity,” Charles said with a smirk. “I was going to use that one.”

“Pretty straightforward, for a code.”

“I like straightforward.” Charles tilted his head slightly to one side, studying him. A corner of his lips quirked up as he seemed to reach a decision. “So, Erik,” Charles said, the last consonant cracking like a whip as it left his lips and he took a step closer.

“Charles,” countered Erik, an invitation to go on.

“Are you up for it?”

For a moment there, Erik thought he had seen a glimpse of insecurity in Charles’s eyes. Had it ever been there, it was soon replaced by Charles’s customary self-assurance. If someone could recover from the shock of being discovered by an acquaintance of his in a place like that quickly enough to find the gall to proposition them, Erik imagined it would be Charles Xavier. Besides, he had the power to ensure Erik would never find him there, or forget altogether that he had seen him, and didn’t seem to be eager to use it. Yet.

His mouth twisted into a smirk on reflex. “For… how’d you call it? A trade?”

Charles’s smile should not have looked so warm, not when arranging for casual toilet sex, but boy if it did. “A trade, yes.” Charles nodded in appreciation. “You’re a quick study.”

“I learnt from the best.”

A hand was extended, palm up, towards him. An invitation.

No, Erik thought, a compromise. Charles was all for compromises. It didn’t make sense that Charles would offer him that in such a way, with no previous signs that he was at all attracted to Erik. He probably thought that, where one secret was kept, another could fit in nicely.

Now they knew they were alike in more than a way. They wouldn’t betray each other for one, certainly they could be trusted with the other. Erik was the safe choice for Charles, so to speak.

He could be that. It wouldn’t be like making love to him, but it would be enough. It had to be.

Erik took Charles’s hand and was rewarded with a smile before Charles started dragging him towards the toilets like he knew the place.

Erik didn’t know if he had been there before as a student - how many times, with how many men - or if he had just plucked the information out of someone’s mind, and didn’t want to.

“You don’t need that.” Charles snatched the brandy from his hand and downed it in one go, dumping the empty glass on a side table as they went.

“And you do?”

“Believe it or not, I tend to be very coherent in bed. You might want to tune it down a notch.”

The safe choice, Erik reminded himself.  Not the only one.

The inside of the bathroom was surreal. You could hear the slap of skin against skin, the drag of clothes being pulled up or down or chafing and always in the way, the rush of water of a WC and of high-pitched incitements, quiet moans and the pained gurgle following up on a sorrowful retching - all mixed together, which was more or less how Erik felt inside, if he thought about it.

Then, all of a sudden, like a door had been closed on Erik’s perception, the noises stopped. All of them, except the screech of hinges of the door Charles was holding open for him.

Once inside, the lock put in place with a flick of Erik’s wrist, Charles pulled him down and brought their lips together.

For a moment, Erik’s conscience melted away in the kisses and touches that Charles seemed almost urgent to give, as if he expected Erik to disappear at any moment. Too soon they parted, breathing heavily.

Charles was looking at him expectantly, and it took Erik a few seconds to understand what was being asked of him. His senses caressed the front of Charles’s pants as they fell open, Charles making quick work of the rest. He then fished out a small bottle from a pocket and popped it open, smearing two fingers with its content.

Charles stared at him as he lowered his fingers, disregarding his half hardness to reach behind himself.

The thought alone was dizzying, though it fought against the notion that it would not be Erik’s hands, Erik’s body that would bring Charles pleasure, not per se. Any other hand, any other body could have accomplished that, had not Erik shown up to that bar on the very same night as Charles had. Erik didn’t think he could stand watching Charles coming apart at his hands as if Erik were just any lover, his _trade_ for the night. As if it didn’t really matter that it was the two of them, together.

It would probably be easier if it were Charles’s hands on him, Charles’s body reclaiming Erik’s for his own pleasure. That way, at least, Erik could pretend it meant something.

“I was hoping you’d do that to me,” Erik said, struggling to get the words out of his clogged throat. “If that’s alright.”

Charles stopped halfway to his own body and smiled a wicked smile, reaching to undo Erik’s fly. “Such a gentleman.” Erik preceded him with his powers, pulling his clothes just out of the way and turning around, bracing himself against the door.

The first touch of Charles’s hand was cold and wet and too much. Erik groaned, his body tense in all the wrong places. This would be good as soon as he stopped thinking about it. This was what he wanted. He wanted to get Charles out of his mind, right? This was his chance, and he had better take it. It didn’t matter how it had come about, it didn’t matter that it didn’t matter.

“Erik, you can let go.”

One of Charles’s fingers slipped inside, slow, careful.

Charles leant against him, his lips brushing against Erik’s shoulder through his shirt.

“It’s me, I got you, you’re safe.”

It was Charles, but Charles didn’t want him. Charles hadn’t chosen him.

He had thought this would make things easier. He had been so wrong.

“I can look, if you want me to,” Charles said in a whisper. “I won’t pry, just see what you need.”

 _I need you_ , Erik thought helplessly. _But what good will it do if you know?_

“No,” he bit out, hoarse. “No, I want this.” He reached behind himself with a hand, found Charles’s fingers, idly pumping in and out, and guided them further inside, biting on his tongue to stifle a moan.

It stung, but it would do. The pain always got the job done.

It had always got the job done before.

His breathing was ragged, his skin prickling with sweat, but his stupid cock just wouldn’t react, and it was clear even in the way Charles’s hand uncoiled from his limp flesh, setting on Erik’s hip instead, and his fingers pulled out with a sorry squelch.

“This is not working out for you, darling.” Trust Charles to be the genuinely concerned one-time partner. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No. I’ll…” Erik choked on a frustrated whine. It was all wrong, but he missed the feeling of Charles’s fingers, he missed the touch of his hand even if it didn’t mean anything. “I’ll come around, I just need— I just need a little more time.” _Come on, come on, **come on!**_ “Get on with it.” He hated the helpless rasp his voice had turned into, he hated how vulnerable and needy it made him feel.

The hand resting on his hip shifted lower, though not in the direction Erik hoped for. It curled instead around his thigh, a solid warmth that managed to ground him for a few seconds before Charles stepped back, removing all points of contact between them, and Erik could feel the telltale closing of a zip.

“Erik, look at me.”

He pulled up his clothes around himself, his zip and button hastening close with an angry snap, and gingerly turned around towards Charles.

Erik couldn’t look him in the eye, which obviously meant his gaze had to go and drop to somewhere improper, and fix itself on Charles’s crotch, which appeared to be carefully tucked into his pants without any hint of a strain.

“It wasn’t working for you either.” _Great, just great. You can’t even turn him on._

“Uhm… that’s… uh…” Erik glanced up at him and Charles tried to smile, succeeding in blushing thoroughly instead. “I’m just very responsive to my partners, I guess.” _That’s right, Lehnsherr. Why don’t you just give up and dig a hole for your self-esteem?_

Frustration had to be visible on his face even in the dim light of the stall, because Charles took Erik’s hand in his and began drawing circles on it with his thumb. He felt Charles’s eyes on him with aching clarity, almost as if Charles struggled not to call out to him with his mind, but some of it still bled through.

“You need that drink now,” Charles said in a quiet voice, tugging on Erik’s hand.

Erik let himself be led out of the bathroom and back into the throng without a word. Charles didn’t let go of his hand even as he elbowed his way through to the bar to order two drinks. Erik began feeling silly after a while. Charles didn’t even feel as Erik did, and still he held on as if that was of paramount importance.

Erik understood when he saw a man glancing at him with interest, and then backing away as soon as he noticed their joined hands.

 _I got you_ , Charles had said. How he wished it was that way.

Charles handed him over a glass, and then, never letting go of Erik’s hand, picked up his own drink and led them outside.

Charles let go of his hand then and sat on the curb, nursing his glass between both palms. When Erik followed his example, leaving a few inches between them, Charles scooted closer until their thighs almost touched.

“I’m sorry I ruined your evening,” Erik said. _I’m sorry it had to be you, when it’s clearly not me_ was what he ought to say, but Erik didn’t think that would make much sense. It didn’t make much sense to him either, if he was honest.

“Ruined?” Charles quietly chided. “When I felt you coming in, I hoped you’d find me. And you did.” Again, the soft smile that did the most terrible things to Erik’s stomach.

“Your evening would have had a completely different outcome, if I hadn’t.”

“Well, yes. I would have spent it wallowing and possibly fucking the first stranger pretending he was you. A great prospect.”

The words didn’t make sense at first, Erik’s brain thick like molasses as his mind trudged across them. Then Charles’s little smile at the beginning of the evening, the flash of uncertainty in his eyes as he had approached came to Erik’s mind. And Charles’s frantic kisses, and his whispers in his ear, _It’s me. I got you. You’re safe._

“You’d pretend he was me?”

Charles frowned. “Why do you think I’m here?” He offered Erik a wry smile, before taking a swig from his glass. “I’ve spent every single day of our trip trying to get a reaction out of you, magically convincing every landlady on our way they only had one double left, casually leaning into you to see if you’d lean back. We’ve been lying together on the same bed, for fuck’s sake, sipping champagne while I looked at you and made lewd remarks about you in a quite revealing sequin dress, and you never did anything! I’ve tried every bloody trick in the book, and the only thing I’ve ever got is an amazed face and an unassuming touch when I do something with my mind.”

“That’s because you’re amazing,” cut in Erik “and I didn’t want to scare you off and ruin what we—”

But Charles wasn’t listening. “Do you even know how unnerving unassuming touches are when all you want is to… wait, what did you say?”

“I said I didn’t want to scare you off. And that you’re amazing. What about that sequin dress?”

Charles flushed. “Don’t change the subject.”

Erik found himself smirking. “I’m sure that was pretty relevant to the heart of it.”

Charles did his best to scowl and didn’t say anything for a while, just studying Erik’s face. Then, “Did you really believe I wasn’t into you even after I dragged you to a bathroom stall?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s many fish in the sea. I thought you might prefer doing it with someone you know and think is less likely to have you mugged or killed.”

Charles was into him. Charles was into him!

“I have my reservations about that.”

“Touché.”

“I also like women.”

“Oh.” That explained a whole lot.

“But I like you better.”

“Oh.” Erik’s choice of vocabulary seemed to have drastically reduced with the newly acquired knowledge that Charles indeed felt as Erik did.

“And I’d really like to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”

Erik knew how Charles’s tentativeness had come about, and set about to dispel it right away.

“Such a gentleman,” Erik whispered, and leant in to kiss him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why are we in London?, you may ask. Well, 'cause I wanted to play around a bit with Polari, the British queer slang also used in gay bars up to the 1960s. I'm not sure I nailed the grammar, but here is the vocabulary I used with its English counterparts:  
> dolly = pretty, nice  
> eek = face  
> plate = blowjob  
> carsey = toilet  
> bona = good  
> palliass = back  
> trade = sex, sexual partner  
> cartso = dick  
> dish = ass  
> oven = mouth  
> ajax = nearby  
> basket = bulge visible from someone's pants  
> cottage = public toilet used for sex
> 
> And you're welcome! :3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [No One Else (A Gentleman in Distress Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127769) by [annejumps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps)




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